Dumbledore's Men
by Sindie
Summary: Two apparent enemies who are really allies, equally Dumbledore's Men, even after his death. Darkness and light in each of them.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are copyright of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and they were used without permission. However, they were used with consideration and with no intention of making money. This story is simply an appreciative fan's attempt at writing something to contribute to the world of Harry Potter.

Warning: Snape is a real jerk through much of this.

Sindie Presents a Harry Potter Fanfic:

Dumbledore's Men

Chapter One

A steady late summer rain was coming down, drenching the ground and covering the windows, the streams of water falling like tears. Harry's spirits were very much in tune with the weather at the present moment.

The hour was late - sometime between three and four in the morning, and he was sitting at the worn wooden table in the neglected kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. This was the third night in a row he had not been able to sleep, and so, resigning himself to the fact that he was better off awake and out of bed than fooling himself by lying down for endless hours and constantly changing positions, only to disturb Ron's sleep, Harry was now nursing a cup of weak tea and staring blankly out the high window into the darkness.

Harry's mind drifted, and he imagined his pampered cousin, Dudley, as he slept deeply in his comfortable bed on Number Four, Privet Drive. They were the same age, and yet Harry had faced and was currently facing things normally dealt with by people several years, or decades, older than him. At seventeen, Harry wondered if he could truly complete the daunting task that was set before him: destroy the remaining Horcruxes and ultimately defeat Voldemort.

In the couple of months that had passed since the end of Harry's sixth and probably last year at Hogwarts, much had happened, but none of it had been good. Even at Dumbledore's funeral, Harry had managed to find hope among the despair, laughter among the tears that threatened to overwhelm. He had declared so faithfully and loyally that he was Dumbledore's man, through and through.

Well, Dumbledore's man was a seventeen-year-old orphan who had no leads to follow on his quest, and the start of term at Hogwarts had already begun, and Harry and his two best friends were drop-outs. Even though Ron and Hermione had told him they would follow him wherever he went, and even though he was inwardly grateful beyond words for their friendship, a larger part of him wanted to push them away. Enough lives had been lost already.

Upon coming of age, the Order had come to the Dursleys' house to safely take him away, but dementors had attacked, and Tonks would have been without a soul had it not been for Lupin's quick intervention. They had come far too close to losing another to the cause.

At Bill and Fleur's wedding, which should have been a happy occasion, an unexpected Death Eater attack occurred, killing Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody in the process. Even though Harry had never been very close to the aged ex-Auror, the loss of him was still painful. It was yet another loss for the Order of the Phoenix.

Now, Harry had returned to the only place he could, but Grimmauld Place wasn't his home. Harry wasn't sure what he would do with the dilapidated house, but for now, it was probably the most secure place he could be. He still needed to visit Godric's Hollow, as he said he would, and he wanted to make that journey alone. The evident problem was persuading Ron and Hermione to stay behind.

None of this left him with any clue where to begin, however. Hadn't Dumbledore left some sort of information for Harry? Then again, Harry supposed Dumbledore hadn't expected to die so suddenly.

A creak from the door, and Harry glanced up to see Hermione tentatively stepping into the dank kitchen. She cast him a concerned look and offered him a weak smile in way of greeting. Harry noticed how dishevelled her hair was, and the dark circles around her eyes were evident. Apparently, he hadn't been the only one lacking sleep.

She poured herself a cup of tea and took the seat opposite Harry, clutching the cup between her hands.

"Harry?" she asked quietly, searching his face with her weary eyes. "I know this is probably a stupid question, but are you all right?"

Sighing deeply, Harry almost purposefully drew out his exhalation, wishing to further postone the inevitable answer. His shoulders slumped, he breathed, "Hardly, but of course you already knew that, Hermione."

Hermione remained silent for a moment, wondering if Harry would elaborate. He regarded her equally silently, perhaps challenging her to ask another absurd question. Harry wasn't sure if it was the sheer tiredness or the weight of what lay ahead pressing on his mind or the growing void of insurmountable loss eating away inside that irritated him, causing him to want to bite a retort.

"What do you want me to say, Hermione?" Harry suddenly barked, finding his voice, although it held no conviction. "I always - _we_ always depended on Dumbledore. As long as Dumbledore was around, we felt somehow safer, but I guess we were only deluding ourselves. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe as long as Dumbledore was there, but whoever would have thought that one of Hogwarts' own _teachers_, a member of the Order, and someone Dumbledore so blindly trusted would turn on him? Snape was a lot of terrible things, but I never thought he'd actually _murder_ Dumbledore! Don't you get it, Hermione? I was right all along about him, and Dumbledore in his 'seeing the good in people' was so wrong for so many years. If he was wrong about Snape, what else was he wrong about?" He paused, gathering his anger closer, and stated sarcastically, "Oh, let's see... maybe the locket Horcrux? He made me force him to drink that vile potion, thinking it for the greater good... to finally get our hands on another one of the Horcruxes, and look where it got him! Dead! And for no reason!"

While Harry had his tirade, he had stood and was now pacing the length of the kitchen restlessly. His rants had been loud enough to wake Ron, who was now standing next to Hermione, who was still seated. Neither of Harry's friends could find the words to make him see reason or calm himself. Over the past several weeks, Ron and Hermione had been witness to small outbursts from Harry, but nothing compared to this. More often than not, Harry had seemed withdrawn to himself and less prone to sharing what was on his mind with his friends. They weren't sure which was more worrying: Harry's silence or shouts. Either way, they knew they had good reason to be concerned.

Harry's breathing was quick and short, but as he finally stopped pacing and was standing still, he looked over at his friends, daring them to find a suitable solution to his multiple problems.

Ron moved his mouth, but no sound came out at first. He tried again and spoke evenly, "Harry, mate... you've got to calm down. Look, I know you've got loads on your plate, stuff you shouldn't have to face, but we told you, we're with you the whole way."

While the better part of Harry knew Ron meant well by his words and intentions, he bit back, "Oh, and that's supposed to help, Ron? What am I supposed to do when you or Hermione wind up the next victims of one of Voldemort's attacks?"

From her seat, Hermione was crying silent tears, and then she choked back a sob. She stood and hesitantly approached Harry. "Please, Harry," she implored, a tone of desperation creeping into her voice as she reached for his hand with hers, "I... I know Dumbledore may have been wrong about Snape, but he was a great wizard and a great man. He wasn't perfect, but I think he had the right idea about Vol- Voldemort. I really think he was on to something with the Horcruxes. He destroyed the ring after all, didn't he? He spent years researching, trying to find out everything he possibly could, and, Harry, he wasn't about to leave you completely at a loss as to what to do next. Do you still have that mysterious note from R.A.B.?" she suddenly asked.

Harry was caught off-guard by her question. He had been so intent on focusing all his energy on his anger that he had forgotten they still had the task ahead of him.

"Er, yes," he stated, pulling the folded note from his pocket.

Harry had been carrying it around with him ever since taking it from the fake locket the night of Dumbledore's demise. It was tattered around the edges, and the creases were well- worn. Harry had taken it out, unfolded it, read it, and folded it, returning it to his pocket, every day. He handed it to Hermione, who perused it and then nodded, the resolve in her eyes akin to that of when a sudden spark of inspiration came to her and she then would announce she was off to the library.

"I thought so," she murmured. She left without explaining anything to either of the boys, much like she always had at Hogwarts when venturing into one of her research forays.

Harry glanced at Ron, who stared back equally confused. A couple of minutes later, Hermione returned with an ancient-looking book.

"I found this in the library," she explained.

Ron couldn't help but grin. Whether Hogwarts' library or the one in the Black home, Hermione was drawn to books. Unfortunately, Harry didn't share the same humor as Ron at the situation. They gathered round their friend as she opened the book to the front inner cover and pointed at some writing there.

R.A.B., it read.

The handwriting was the same as the note, and Harry found himself wanting to strike himself upside the head for being so daft. They had just spent three days in the house of the author of that note.

"Regulus Black, of course," Harry said between clenched teeth.

Everything Sirius had told Harry about his younger brother, from joining the Death Eaters to suddenly wanting out and then being killed shortly thereafter, came flooding back to his mind. As thoughts of what he knew about Regulus played through his mind, Harry's thoughts were directed to a specific memory: Two years ago, cleaning out Grimmauld Place, throwing away old things, Kreacher keeping some of them, an old locket no one could open...

"Maybe it's still here," Harry said, suddenly feeling hope course through him once more.

With renewed vigor, the three of them searched and scoured the entire house, from attic to basement, the whole day. Kreacher's old nesting area was especially checked, three times over, for the locket, but after a long, gruelling day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were back in the kitchen, dirty and tired, and Harry's temper was the worse for their failure.

"I should've known," he grumbled, slumping into a chair. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. "It's pointless, isn't it?" he questioned. "What's the point of even trying? Who am I kidding? Dumbledore was so adament about his claims - that I have 'the power the Dark Lord knows not' and all that rot. He was wrong about Snape. He was wrong about the Horcruxes, too, probably. And... he was wrong about me."

Harry found himself falling into darkness deeper than ever that night. Ron and Hermione looked on, feeling drained and lost, wishing they could give Harry a reason to keep his faith in the cause, but as the rainstorm outside turned for the worst, so Harry Potter turned for the worst. When he removed his face from his hands, his once vibrant green eyes now held an emptiness remininscent of Lily Potter's lifeless eyes as her body lay on the floor of Godric's Hollow seconds after sacrificing herself for her son.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Coward. Coward. Coward.

The incessant word kept running through Snape's head. Potter had really struck a nerve with that one word, but Snape would never admit why. The bitter truth was he believed it was true, at least on some level. He had done many cowardly things in his life, the worst having been being responsible for Lily's death.

No one knew the reason Dumbledore had trusted him so fervently, so tightly. That secret had been taken to the grave when Snape had murdered the only man who thought him worth something... since Lily. Now, Snape lived his days with the knowledge that he had killed the two people who had ever shown him some kindness.

It hardly mattered that Dumbledore had told Snape all along that, if it was necessary, he, Snape, would need to do the dastardly deed of killing him. Long before the Unbreakable Vow, Dumbledore and Snape had kept that thought in the back of their minds, and Dumbledore's adament, forceful retort at Snape's near begging of him to relieve him of this burden had always been the same. Those words from the old man's mouth had been especially harsh this past year. Dumbledore _had_ been living on borrowed time, perhaps, but still...

Taken to drinking away much of his pathetic excuse for a life, Snape's resentment toward Dumbledore had only increased in the past couple of months. Years ago, when he had come to Dumbledore with remorse on his lips, Dumbledore had given him mercy, but at a severe price, and while Snape would agree to turn spy for the greater good, he and Dumbledore had failed to agree on many levels.

Dumbledore's firm insistence in the Potter boy being the one to defeat the Dark Lord, in the mediocre boy having such power as 'the Dark Lord knows not,' well, that was utter rubbish to Snape. From the moment he had lain eyes on Potter, he had been horribly reminded of James Potter. He had hated the boy before even meeting him, simply because of who he was - not only that insufferable James Potter's son, but Lily's... oh, sweet Lily! The resentment was a stronger case against the boy, but Snape would never admit that.

With Dumbledore gone, with Lily long gone, what did he have to live for? Had Dumbledore honestly expected him to carry on with his work? Snape snorted, for he knew the answer to this inane question, but he felt betrayed by Dumbledore. In his growing resentment, he found his hatred naturally taking hold.

Hatred was easy.

Hatred was the coward's way out.

If Potter dared step in front of Snape in that moment and challenge him to a duel, Snape couldn't promise he wouldn't do him serious harm. Kill him? He wouldn't go quite so far, for after all, if Potter ever proved useful, he would vanquish the Dark Lord. Snape smiled evilly to himself.

_And then I would have no master to serve. For all Dumbledore's claim to care about my welfare, I find that hard to believe._

"Look at me now, old man," Snape muttered, slurring his words. "Are you proud of me? Have I come so far in your twinkling blue eyes?"

Snape threw the bottle he'd been nursing across the room, and it shattered against the wall of the sitting room in Spinner's End. The shards of glass joined the numerous others littering the floor there.

"I hate you, Albus; I hate you. At least the Dark Lord is honest about dealing out his punishments. Your empty promises mean nothing now. Worthy, indeed. I was worthy enough to have the honor of killing you, and now that I have done what you claimed to be heroic in an oddly twisted way, you are, thank Merlin, out of my life for good!"

Just then, the hidden door among the bookshelves slid open, and Wormtail stepped into the room. He slunk across the room, eyeing Snape warily with his watery eyes.

"Who're you talking to, Snape?" the short man asked. He noticed yet another bottle smashed and smirked. "Ah, talking to yourself again, eh?" he teased. "Poor Snivellus. The Dark Lord didn't quite reward you the way you thought he would for offing the old man, did he? You've lost a lot of rank with this nasty habit you've developed. Are you jealous?"

Snape spat on the floor and glared at Wormtail. "Shut your mouth, you rat, and don't natter on about things you don't understand."

Wormtail grinned. "Right you are, Snape. I don't understand mindless prattle. You really have lost your touch, haven't you? Used to always be so smooth-tongued and slithering out of action..."

Normally, had Snape been his usual formidable self, Wormtail wouldn't have taunted him. Usually the weak one, Wormtail was accustomed to being teased, but he took every opportunity he had to exert his power over this shattered, intoxicated Snape.

Snape glared at Wormtail and walked away, not wishing to further incriminate himself. He knew what his comrades were muttering about him. True, they had never trusted him, but he knew he was showing a weakness greater than ever before since killing Dumbledore. Snape withdrew to his bedroom upstairs, locking himself in. He didn't need reminders from the likes of that traitor Wormtail how treacherous he was and what a failure he had become.

Overcome with inebriation and emptiness, Snape slumped into his bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep. When he woke, it was the middle of the night, and he sat up, sobered and with a horrible headache. Groaning at his stupidity, Snape stood and left the bedroom, going down to the kitchen to prepare some strong coffee.

A few minutes later, he sat at the kitchen table, thinking about any number of things. Thankfully, he didn't need to worry about being interrupted by Wormtail, as the small man slept through the night.

_What am I doing with myself? If Albus were here, he'd be ashamed of me; there's no doubt about that._

Snape sighed heavily and rubbed at his aching temples. For the first time in weeks, the smallest glimmer of hope returned to him. He had always been a good spy, and to play to his strengths would be to his advantage if he cared enough about his meagre life to keep it.

After finishing the coffee, Snape went back upstairs and quickly showered and changed his clothes. In the pre-dawn morning, he left the house, the darkness shrouding him in his equally black clothes. When he reached the end of the street, Snape glanced around, ensuring no one was watching and ducked into the shadow of a tree and Disapparated.

Apparating to the edge of Hogsmeade, Snape decided to first spend several hours staking out the dogdy areas of the village. There was daily activity among Dark wizards and Death Eaters there. After that, he figured he would just as soon pay Knockturn Alley a visit.

Slowly, the sun rose, and the temperature warmed. The late summer day was comfortable, and Snape could feel the chill of autumn in the early morning air. He entered the Hog's Head, but not before transfiguring his facial features enough so as not to be recognized by the owner. Snape knew Aberforth Dumbledore was the surly old man behind the bar, and it wouldn't do to be recognized by a member of the Order.

Most of the morning passed uneventfully, but Snape did overhear some interesting bit of news from the owner as he murmured to a costumer who was seated at the counter. Apparently, Potter and his friends had been in the shady pub the previous evening, inquiring after a certain locket. Snape frowned, wondering what this meant.

His mind drifted back to the previous year when Dumbledore had come to him with great need of his assistance in healing from Dark magic. Dumbledore's blackened, withered hand had raised many questions, but Dumbledore wouldn't elaborate. Snape was no fool, though. He recognized the ring almost immediately: It had been Slytherin's ring. Dumbledore had mentioned something about visiting the abandoned house of the Gaunts. Some quick research into Hogwarts' old school records, and Snape quickly discovered that Merope Gaunt had been Tom Riddle's mother. There had always been a strong suspicion among the Dark Lord's followers as to how he kept himself alive even when without a corporeal form for so many years, and although the knowledge was rare, Snape knew more than a few things about the Dark Arts.

The Dark Lord must have created a Horcrux. More than one, surely, and only a Horcrux could have done that amount of damage to Dumbledore's hand. Now, hearing of this locket, Snape's suspicions were confirmed: There had to be more than one Horcrux, and Dumbledore must have told Potter about them.

Returning to what was going on around him in the pub, Snape realized noon had come and gone, and so, he stood and left. As he walked down a deserted alley, he cursed Dumbledore yet again.

_You left Potter alone to destroy objects containing the Dark Lord's soul, and you didn't think to tell anyone else, Albus? Why am I not surprised? You always were annoyingly mysterious and vague in your explanations. No doubt you only told people what you thought they needed to know._

His demeanor growing more sour by the minute, Snape Apparated to Knockturn Alley.

x x x x x

After their bad luck at Grimmauld Place, Harry recalled his encounter with Mundungus Fletcher as he caught him nicking items from Sirius's old house. Mundungus had been talking with the owner of the Hog's Head that day right before Harry verbally attacked him for stealing. Although he couldn't be sure, Harry knew it was a lead, so he took it, figuring his trip to Godric's Hollow could wait a couple more days.

When he went to the Hog's Head, he hadn't been expecting anything informative to happen. Because of the failure so far in his quest, and with his bitter attitude, Harry was pleasantly surprised to learn that the owner was Dumbledore's own brother. While Dumbledore hadn't told Aberforth much, he had told him about certain objects that may be on the black market and to keep an eye out for them: a locket and a cup in particular.

Now, Harry wondered why Dumbledore had gone to the cave in search of the locket if he thought it might not even be there. Adding that to so many questions he already had, Harry swore he would have bombarded the old wizard with a thousand questions and demands before welcoming him back to the world of the living had it been possible to resurrect the dead.

Today, however, Harry felt a little closer to defeating Voldemort once and for all. The true locket Horcrux was in his pocket, and although he still needed to find a way to destroy it, at least he had located the real one.

At Hermione's suggestion of visiting places that were significant to Voldemort, Harry decided to go to Borgin and Burke's in Knockturn Alley. The cave and the Gaunt house had both been important in Voldemort's past, so with a shred of hope in his heart, Harry entered the shifty shop that early afternoon. He kept his hood up, as to not raise suspicion, for hiding one's true identity in a place like this was the norm.

Harry wasn't sure how he would get the information he wanted, but as he pretended to casually peruse the items in the shop, he suddenly heard a voice that instantly made his insides boil.

_Snape._

Harry ducked behind a shelf full of pickled animals in jars. Sure enough, standing not more than fifteen feet away, his back to Harry, was the dark, tall, and menacing figure of Severus Snape. Harry's hand went for his wand. Ron and Hermione were outside, leaving Harry alone to deal with the traitor.

_Good,_ thought Harry savagely. _It'll be just us, one on one._

He didn't want to endanger his friends, so Harry surreptitiously warded the shop from intruders. He aimed a careful stunner at the owner, glad to be of age and to have finally mastered non-verbal spells. In his determination and resolve since leaving Hogwarts, Harry would be damned if he was going to be unprepared for battle.

Shocked to see Borgin topple over right in front of his eyes, Snape turned around, and his black eyes met green ones. A well-mastered sneer graced his thin lips, and he reached for his wand.

"Potter," he growled, walking toward the boy.

"Snape," Harry said just as threateningly.

"Fancy seeing you here," Snape said sarcastically. "Have you finally embraced your dark side, Potter? I seem to remember you showing an aptitude for it a few months ago when you cursed Draco Malfoy."

"Shut up!" Harry snarled. He tried to cast the very spell, Sectumsempra, he'd used on Malfoy. However, Snape was still too learned and quick for him.

Snape laughed humorlessly. "Do you really think you can beat me in a duel, Potter? I see you've learned non-verbal spells, especially ones you've stolen from me, but as I told you, you won't _dare_ use my spell against me!"

"I said to shut it!" Harry bellowed. "You've got a lot of nerve, Snape, showing your ugly face in public after murdering Dumbledore! I swore I'd get my revenge, and that's what I intend to do-"

Before Harry could finish speaking, however, Snape blasted Harry with a weakened version of Sectumsempra. Like the adolescent Snape had done to James in the Pensieve memory, a nasty cut formed on Harry's cheek, and then Snape slashed his wand again, causing Harry's other cheek to bleed. Harry felt dizzy as the blood drained, and he stumbled to the floor.

"Fight fairly, you coward!" Harry yelled furiously.

Snape stalked over to Harry and stood over him. Harry was sickeningly reminded of his last encounter with Snape.

"I should have your neck for calling me a coward again," Snape hissed. He kicked Harry in the side and slashed his wand a third time, cutting Harry's forehead.

Harry struggled to keep his eyes on Snape, but with the loss of blood, he was becoming increasingly lightheaded and losing his ability to concentrate.

"You're nothing," Harry said in a deadly whisper, glaring daggers at Snape. "Dumbledore should've seen right through you the way I do. You'll see, Snape. You'll meet your own sticky end."

Snape kicked him again. "Stop wasting my time, Potter. You're pathetic. And don't you _dare_ talk about things your little mind can't understand. I'll see you again soon, I daresay."

With that, Snape Disapparated, and Harry sat up, dropping his wand, and trying to stop the bleeding with his hands over his face. His fury was beyond words. Disgraced, Harry yelled at the air, "You coward! You coward! You coward!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Seconds after Snape had Disapparated, Borgin came to and stood up behind the counter, confused as to what was going on. His eyes immediately settled on Harry, and he knew something had happened in his shop.

"You," he growled. "Get outta my shop!"

Harry didn't need telling twice. With his hands still on his cheeks, he left and literally ran into Ron and Hermione. Upon seeing his bloodied face, Hermione shrieked in horror, and Ron gasped.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked shrilly. She pulled him aside.

"Harry, are you all right?" Ron asked simultaneously.

Harry shook his head, in too much pain and too angry to find his voice.

"We need to get you back to Grimmauld Place," Hermione said hastily. "Come on."

With a weak nod, Harry Disapparated with his friends, and within minutes, they were back inside Grimmauld Place. Hermione immediately forced Harry to lie down on the couch and was nursing his wounds. Ron fetched whatever she needed, and once Harry was mended enough, Hermione said, "Well, I'm no Healer, Harry, but it'll have to do. Now, tell us what happened."

Meeting the worried eyes of his two best friends, Harry stated in a gravelly voice, "Snape."

"Snape?" Ron questioned incredulously. "You mean, he was in Borgin and Burke's?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "He was there, all right."

"And he did this to you?" Hermione asked, affronted.

Harry nodded. He explained the whole confrontation to them and found his strength waning. Hermione pressed a cool cloth to Harry's forehead, concern etched all over her face.

"You're burning up, Harry, and you're exhausted. You need to sleep."

Harry grimaced and started to protest, but Hermione was firm with him. "Look, Harry, I know what Snape did was awful, and I promise we'll help you track him down, but that's not your primary concern right now. First and foremost, you need to recover. You'll need your strength, and then we've got to find the Horcruxes."

"Hermione's right, mate," Ron added. "I'm not saying it's not important to find that git and get even with him, but you've got bigger things to worry about right now."

"Right," Harry ground out, clenching his teeth.

Displeased with his current condition, Harry reluctantly knew that his friends were correct. He couldn't go looking for Snape this instant. He would need to recover his strength first, and then, before any more Horcrux hunting, his primary goal would be finding that traitor.

Spent, Harry fell asleep, wondering what Snape had meant about him not understanding. What was there to understand? Snape was a murderer and a traitor. What more could there possibly be to explain?

x x x x x

Snape was back at Spinner's End, and his temper was raging. He'd simply been trying to find out something useful for the cause of fighting against Voldemort, and what had happened? He had run into the one person who could make his situation worse.

Making to reach for another bottle of elf-made wine, Snape stopped his hand just shy of the bottle and frowned deeply, disgusted with both himself and Potter. Withdrawing his hand, he sighed and sank into the couch.

Had he gone too far in harming Potter today? He was angry, no doubt about it, and he loathed the boy, but Snape knew the damage his temper could inflict, even if he didn't mean to go so far. It seemed like simply seeing the brat had been reason enough to lose control, and Snape inwardly berated himself for being so foolish.

A part of him wanted to remain in hiding for as long as possible and say to hell with trying to carry on being "Dumbledore's man." That part of him felt the temptation of simply submitting himself to the Dark Lord's rule once again, for how could he ever believe Potter would destroy Voldemort?

Snape decided to sequester himself to his bedroom, lest Wormtail think it necessary to come out of his hidey-hole and bother him. With nothing else to do, Snape fell into an uneasy sleep.

Snape could hear the sheer regret in her voice, and it stung deeply. Even Dumbledore's disappointment had been bearable, but not hers.

Not Lily's.

Then, her pretty face appeared before him, and she was crying silent tears.

"I'm sorry, Lily..." Snape heard himself pathetically beg. "I... I didn't know what else to do."

"That's a lie, Severus, and you know it. Is what Harry said of you really true? Are you a coward?"

Snape couldn't continue to look into her green eyes. Seeing hatred in Harry's eyes was bad enough, but to see the pity in hers was far worse. She was right. He was a coward.

In an instant, the dream ended, and Snape awoke, sitting bolt upright in bed, startled. It took a moment for him to calm down and assess his surroundings, realizing it had been nothing more than a dream.

Or had it been a mere dream?

Left to his thoughts, Snape felt an overwhelming guilt penetrating every fiber of his being.

Yes, he was a coward.

x x x x x

He wasn't sure why he had returned here, of all places. He hadn't been in this place in sixteen years. On the edge of town, their house had stood. Nothing remained.

He walked down the gravel path farther, until coming to a small cemetery. There they were: two gravestones. Lily and James Potter. Together in life and death.

And here he was, standing there senselessly, left alone to continue on living. Without her.

This time, Snape hadn't bothered to try and hide his appearance. It was unlikely anyone would come to this remote location, but if they had and he were caught, he found he no longer cared.

Life had lost its meaning years ago, and anything he had tried to fill it with had proven futile. Anything, whether hope or fear, truth or lies... it hadn't mattered one shred of worth.

Snape placed a single white lily on her grave and simply stood there, finding no words that could make things right. He was lost to himself and the world, a seemingly empty shell. His soul could have just as well been sucked out by a dementor.

Then, in the slight breeze, Snape felt something hard poking him in the middle of the back. He didn't need to turn around to know who was standing behind him.

"So we meet again, Snape," came Potter's voice, filled with contempt.

"So it would seem," Snape replied almost lazily. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Potter's statement of the obvious.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here? What business do you have showing up at my parents' graves but to come smirk at your success in betraying them?" Harry insisted with pure malice, poking Snape harder with his wand. "I should kill you here and now," he hissed.

"Then do it," Snape said emotionlessly.

Harry hadn't been expecting this. Surely it had to be a trick.

"You-" he began, but then his eyes noticed the flower on his mother's grave, and Harry felt dizzy. Thinking he was going to be sick, Harry jabbed Snape deeper still. "Crucio," the boy uttered waspishly.

The effect was instantaneous. Snape coiled over in front of Harry, now the one who was crumpled at the feet of the other. From his vantage point, Harry kept his wand pointed directly at Snape's heart. Upon using an Unforgivable successfully for the first time, Harry felt a surge of adrenaline and control course through him. He watched with a sick delight as Snape twitched on the ground. When the convulsions stopped, Snape's body went slack, but he did not go for his wand, nor did he attempt to stand. He put up absolutely no sign of trying to defend himself.

"What are you playing at, Snape?" Harry demanded, glaring at the lily and back again at Snape.

"I could... ask you... the same thing," Snape ground out. "If you're here to kill me, be done with it, Potter. Show some nerve for once."

Harry found himself faltering. As much as he hated Snape, as much as he had sworn he would be the one to kill him, now, with Snape at his mercy, Harry was finding the task much more difficult than merely uttering the Killing Curse. Like Draco Malfoy had wavered in front of Dumbledore, Harry's wand was now shaking in his hand, and he slowly lowered it. It was one thing to speak big about killing; it was quite another to actually carry the action through.

"Why?" Harry asked, his voice trembling. "Why did you betray my parents? Why did you kill Dumbledore? He trusted you. He swore you were on our side. And why have you placed a flower on my mum's grave? Did you- did you-"

Harry couldn't bring himself to ask the question.

_Did you love her?_

The words were left unspoken on his lips.

Snape simply stared back at Harry, any conviction or malice drained from his eyes. Instead, they were empty. When Harry knew Snape would give no response, he whispered, "I can't even kill you when you deserve to die for everything you've done. If I can't kill you, how will I ever destroy Voldemort?"

From his spot on the ground, Snape saw in Harry's eyes for the first time something of Lily. He wouldn't explain himself to Potter; he just wouldn't.

"You're more of a fool than I thought, Potter," Snape forced himself to half-sneer.

Before Harry could reply, Snape Disapparated, leaving Harry to his thoughts. Harry continued to gaze upon his parents' graves. He'd wanted to be alone for this visit, but yet again, Snape and he had crossed paths. It was almost as if the grand design of the universe had a twisted sense of humor to keep two such people as Harry and Snape intertwining against their will.

Harry picked up the lily and held it gently in his hands. Just when he thought he had figured out the enigma that was Severus Snape, Harry felt the waters of perplexity and complexity stirring. Unsettled, Harry realized he would never understand Snape.

He returned the lily to his mother's grave.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

In the next several months that followed, Harry slowly found the Horcruxes and destroyed them, but in all this time, he never crossed pathes with Snape again. He had kept his encounter at Godric's Hollow from Ron and Hermione, and his two friends were often surprised to find anonymous hints sent to them about where to find the Horcruxes or who to talk to next. 

While Harry was still confused by Snape's parting words, he had a sneaking suspicion that the leads they were receiving were from his ex-teacher. While he still had plenty of reason to not like the dark man, Harry was glad for any help he could get, and with the passage of time, he had come to realize that Dumbledore had been right to trust Snape. For all his downfalls, Snape had been working for Dumbledore all those years. 

At first, Harry wanted to deny any possibility of Snape having been loyal to Dumbledore and having (here, he wanted to retch) apparently loved his mother. Hatred was understandable and straightforward. Hatred had always come naturally where Harry's view on Snape was concerned, but just like when he'd seen the horrible truth in Snape's memory about his, Harry's, father, Harry now felt pity for Snape and was unsettled. 

Time has a way of healing things, though. Knowing Dumbledore had been right about Snape had given Harry the confidence to trust the late headmaster regarding the Horcruxes and his faith in Harry. Harry found he could overlook certain attributes that had fed his animosity toward Snape, especially something as trivial as his sour demeanor. 

Despite Harry's changed feelings about Snape, however, he still wanted answers. He still wanted to know why Snape had betrayed his parents and killed Dumbledore, and while he could guess, he wanted, needed, vindication from the other man's own mouth. 

Most importantly, Harry wished he knew what his mother had seen in Snape to have made Snape love her. 

All these questions would need to wait for answers. 

Harry was now face-to-face with Lord Voldemort, having destroyed all other parts of his soul but the one in his reptilian body. Voldemort, beyond anger that all his precious Horcruxes had been eliminated, casted an _Avada Kedavra_ right at Harry. 

While Harry's reflexes were fast, he hadn't been prepared, but from his left, the figure of a Death Eater plunged directly in front of him, taking the full brunt of the Killing Curse in the chest. 

"No!" Harry shouted, knowing without a doubt who had just fallen in front of him. 

Voldemort laughed mirthlessly and kicked the body. The mask fell off the face, and sure enough, Snape's lifeless eyes were staring up at the sky. 

"I always had my suspicions about you, Snape," Voldemort hissed. "Now I suppose I know the answer as to where your true loyalties have been all these long years." 

"Don't touch him!" Harry bellowed furiously at Voldemort. 

With mock pity on his face, Voldemort implored, "Did you actually care about him, Harry, after everything he did? Killing Dumbledore? Betraying your parents to me? Treating you so horribly?" 

"Shut up!" Harry shouted. "You know nothing of what it means to be loyal, to care about someone, or love someone or be loved..." 

Unable to explain where the overwhelming surge of warmth was coming from inside, Harry knew what he needed to do in order to defeat Voldemort once and for all. 

Harry felt something beyond his anger gaining control, growing stronger with every word he shouted. It overtook his mind, his heart, his soul, and he willed himself to focus on it completely, forcing himself to search for the darkness that was Voldemort's plagued mind. In that darkness, Harry sought long and hard to find what he was looking for: a terrified boy within. 

"YOU'RE PATHETIC! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A SCARED, LITTLE BOY, TOM RIDDLE! AN EVIL ORPHAN WHO COULDN'T ACCEPT THE TRUTH! A YOUNG MAN WHO TURNED TO DARKNESS INSTEAD OF LIGHT WHEN GIVEN WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN THE POWER TO DO SO MUCH GOOD! A MAN WHO'S NOT EVEN A MAN ANYMORE, BUT A CREATURE WHOSE LIFE IS BEYOND SAVING! YOUR BLOOD ISN'T EVEN YOUR OWN ANYMORE! EVERYTHING YOU ARE YOU'VE TAKEN FROM OTHER PEOPLE, FEEDING ON WHAT YOU THOUGHT WERE THEIR WEAKNESSES, THINKING THAT LOVE WAS A WEAKNESS, BUT LOVE IS THE GREATEST POWER OF ALL!" 

Harry could feel his mind becoming one with Voldemort's, and Voldemort, try as he might, could not keep Harry out of his mind, out of his blackened heart, out of his lost soul. Harry's love, so powerful, so white, so pure, was like white-hot fire to Voldemort. He felt himself burning within, the blood that was Harry's blood beginning to boil, destroying his inhuman body from the inside-out. Screaming in utter and complete agony, Voldemort's grip on his wand loosened, and it dropped to the ground. Writhing in the pain that he had caused so many people for so long, the love of everyone innocent came back with a vengeance to destroy their destroyer. A great and terrible thing, love was the power that Harry had in such vast quantities that Voldemort possessed not. 

With one long, drawn-out cry, Voldemort exploded into nothingness. Disbelief that everything was finally over, that he had finally and truly defeated Voldemort, flooded through Harry. He looked at Snape's prone form and shook his head sadly. Going to the man's body and kneeling, Harry gently closed the lids over Snape's eyes and murmured, "Thank you, sir." 

x x x x x

In the days that followed, the Wizarding world heralded Harry as a hero, but in all honesty, he didn't feel like much of a hero. He was relieved to have Voldemort gone, but what a price everyone had paid. Harry still had a thousand questions going through his mind, and now, with both Dumbledore and Snape gone, he didn't think he would ever have the answers. 

He was wrong. 

A message arrived for him while he was back at Grimmauld Place. It was summer again, and so the owl flew in through an open window. 

Taking the letter, Harry opened it, and the owl flew off. 

_Dear Harry, _

I hope you can forgive me one day for so many things. If you have received this letter, then I know you have finally done what no one else could have. You have defeated Lord Voldemort. Congratulations, my dear boy. 

I am sorry to have left you at a time when you felt you needed me most, but, Harry, please try to understand. I was already dying from the serious wound I had suffered with my hand, and only Severus's timely assistance kept me alive long enough to stay around to share with you all I knew about Voldemort. 

Know that when Severus killed me, it was a part of a plan we had held loosely for several years. I had not known when I would die, but was only sure that a time would come when he might need to do what was necessary for the greater good. 

I also know that if you have received this letter, then Severus is also no longer with us. You see, Harry, among one of my cleverer tricks was the ability to prepare this message to only be given to you when the time was right. 

I never fully explained to you why I trusted Severus, only that I did and that it was between Severus and myself. Now, with us both in the great beyond, I feel you deserve the right to know. This letter is a Portkey, Harry. It will take you to Hogwarts, to my office, where the Pensieve is waiting for you. 

With greatest love and admiration,  
Albus Dumbledore 

The moment Harry finished reading the letter, he felt the familiar tug at his belly button, and the next moment, he was standing in Dumbledore's old office. It hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been here. All the portraits, including Dumbledore's, were slumbering, so the only sounds to be heard were light snores. 

Harry's eyes settled on the cabinet where Dumbledore kept the Pensieve. Going for it, he pulled the door open and found the Pensieve sitting on the top shelf, untouched. Harry gingerly took it in his hands and placed it on the desk. Gazing into the silvery substance contained within, Harry carefully lowered his face until his nose touched the silvery mist/liquid, and he plunged into Dumbledore's memory. 

He found himself in Dumbledore's office, but it was night, and there weren't quite as many gadgets and instruments on tables and shelves. Harry saw Dumbledore sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace, and in the chair opposite was a young Severus Snape. 

Not surprised, Harry walked closer to the two men and took in their faces. Snape seemed distraught, and the expression on his face was unnerving, for Harry had never imagined seeing Snape looking this way. Dumbledore appeared concerned and saddened. 

"Why have you come here tonight, Severus?" Dumbledore finally asked. 

Snape flinched at Dumbledore's words, even though the older wizard held no accusation in his tone. Harry noticed Snape was dressed in Death Eater garb. The white mask he held in his trembling hands was clutched so tightly, Harry thought it might break. 

Unable to bring himself to meet Dumbledore's eyes, Snape said softly, "I know who he's targeting... with the Prophecy. It's... it's the Potters, sir." 

Dumbledore didn't say anything but nodded. There was a long pause, and then he spoke. "Thank you for telling me this, Severus." 

Snape looked at Dumbledore incredulously and scoffed. "'Thank you?!' Haven't you been listening, old man? You already know I'm the one responsible for telling him, and now, months later, he's ready to make his move!" 

"I understand you quite well, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "I was wondering when you would come to me, and I am glad you have. It has not escaped my notice that you had feelings of love for young Lily Evans when you were students here. Those types of feelings don't just go away, my boy. You don't need to be ashamed." 

Snape glared at Dumbledore. "You meddling old fool," he hissed, clearly stung. "You think you can just sit there and speak about things you don't understand? I was a child, a stupid child caught up in a fantasy that could never be. But what does any of it matter now? She chose Potter, and now she's got a kid with him. Just send me to Azkaban and be done with it." 

"It is true that I could send you to Azkaban. You are, after all, a Death Eater, but I do not wish to do that, Severus. You chose to come to me tonight when you could have come to anyone... or kept this information secret. What you have done tonight took enormous amounts of courage, and as I told you, I had hoped you would realize the error of your ways and return to the right side one day. This is your chance, my boy. If you agree to turn spy for the side of Light, I will provide you with a home here at Hogwarts. You may teach here and be kept safe. Horace Slughorn has retired, so the Potions position is available. You always were a natural at it." 

"W- what?" Snape asked, aghast. "What are you nattering on about, Dumbledore? I'm not qualified to be a teacher... I'd be teaching people who'd been students when I was still a student. Why would you want a known criminal teaching students? I suppose I can spy... but..." 

Snape was hesitating, clearly conflicted. He had come that night to do the first right thing in a long time, and he most certainly hadn't expected mercy. He wasn't used to be treated with kindness, but the thought of kindness reminded him of Lily, and he knew he would do whatever it took to ensure Voldemort was defeated. 

"Fine," Snape finally gave in, "but you must promise you'll do everything you can to protect her. I can't imagine..." Snape paused, choking on his words, and Harry thought he held Snape hold back a sob. "I can't imagine how I'd live with myself if something happened to her." 

"You have my word, Severus," Dumbledore said gently. 

The memory ended, and Harry found himself once again in the headmaster's office. The same two chairs were still by the fireplace. As Harry looked at the spot where the conversation had taken place, he felt remorse for ever thinking ill of Snape. He could have chosen to be angry at Dumbledore and Snape for not telling him the truth all along, but he supposed it wasn't worth his anger anymore. They were gone, and he was alive. Because of their sacrifices, they had given Harry a chance to live. 

Harry wasn't going to waste another minute on being bitter. Voldemort was gone, and at seventeen, Harry had his whole life ahead of him. 

He went to the door and paused, glancing back at the office one last time. He smiled weakly but gratefully, and as he turned to leave, he could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's portrait wink. 

The End 


End file.
